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The World Encompassed/Ignored (*delete as applicable)
Two very different plays at the National: Southwark Fair and The Royal Hunt of the Sun. Seen on successive nights, they give you two very different views of humanity.
The action of Southwark Fair all takes place within a couple of hundred yards of the foot of Tower Bridge -- specifically, from Butler's Wharf to Hays Galleria. It's all set in the present day, and has a cast of tourists, jobbing Australians and passing Londoners of various stripes. Rory Kinnear, who is starting to look alarmingly like his father, plays the central role of Simon, a drippy and vaguely dislikeable gay IT manager-type. I didn't like the character, and am still trying to work out whether this was because it struck too close to home, or because it's just odd to watch (what looks like) Roy Kinnear playing gay, or because the character was just plain dislikeable. Con O'Neill, vaguely familiar (at least to me) from the film Bedrooms and Hallways, plays Simon's closeted drunken former lover/abuser. Margaret Tyzack has great fun (but not nearly enough to do) as a batty old actress friend of Simon's. There are parts for the deputy mayor, a possibly Polish waiter, a not-terribly-plausible Courtney Love clone, and an Australian bloke who sells bird whistles. All Southwark life is here, though not all of it in very much depth.
The play doesn't seem able to choose whether it wants to be light social comedy, or a dramatic study of a man facing up to his childhood sexual abuse, and ends up falling over its own feet a bit. But it has its moments, and in particular it has a strong sense of London-ness about it that appealed to me. It's in the Travelex £10 season, and you can't really go wrong for a tenner.
From a play that barely moves a hundred yards, to one that goes from Spain to Peru and back: The Royal Hunt of the Sun is about what happens when empires collide, and the mutual incomprehension inherent in a true clash of civilisations. It is, as you might imagine, rather relevant at the moment, although the direction is never so vulgar as to explicitly draw attention to the fact. Alun Armstrong plays Francisco Pizarro as a blunt son of the soil (the Yorkshire accent helps) who heads off to Peru in search of gold. He ends up facing down Atahuallpa, the Sun God's son, who is played superbly by Paterson Joseph. Joseph seems to be cornering the market in slightly loony dictators -- only a few months ago he was the much more worldly but equally bonkers Emperor Jones, at the (tiny) Gate theatre. But it's one thing to exude power and animal magnetism at the Gate, when all the audience are within arm's length, and another to do it at the Olivier when most of the audience see you as a dot in the distance. It was a remarkable performance, and the scenes between him and Armstrong were mesmerising.
The staging was impressive, too. I hadn't realised that the apocryphal stage direction "they cross the Andes" isn't actually apocryphal at all -- this is the play it comes from! And the cast, who almost outnumber Pizarro's original expedition, do indeed cross the Andes, and do it without any Northern-Lights-style trickery (the famous Olivier drum revolve barely moves throughout the whole play).
This play was a pleasure from beginning to end. Which is three and a quarter hours, by the way, so don't make any early dinner reservations. The second act, in particular, takes its own sweet time, and I admit I found myself wishing they'd hurry it up a bit in places. But the play treats the audience like adults, refuses absolutely to beat you over the head with a message, and (especially in the second act) gives you plenty of food for thought -- you find yourself sympathising with the rampaging Christians even as you're repelled by them.
This one's also available for a tenner, if you're quick about it, and I'd recommend it unreservedly.
The action of Southwark Fair all takes place within a couple of hundred yards of the foot of Tower Bridge -- specifically, from Butler's Wharf to Hays Galleria. It's all set in the present day, and has a cast of tourists, jobbing Australians and passing Londoners of various stripes. Rory Kinnear, who is starting to look alarmingly like his father, plays the central role of Simon, a drippy and vaguely dislikeable gay IT manager-type. I didn't like the character, and am still trying to work out whether this was because it struck too close to home, or because it's just odd to watch (what looks like) Roy Kinnear playing gay, or because the character was just plain dislikeable. Con O'Neill, vaguely familiar (at least to me) from the film Bedrooms and Hallways, plays Simon's closeted drunken former lover/abuser. Margaret Tyzack has great fun (but not nearly enough to do) as a batty old actress friend of Simon's. There are parts for the deputy mayor, a possibly Polish waiter, a not-terribly-plausible Courtney Love clone, and an Australian bloke who sells bird whistles. All Southwark life is here, though not all of it in very much depth.
The play doesn't seem able to choose whether it wants to be light social comedy, or a dramatic study of a man facing up to his childhood sexual abuse, and ends up falling over its own feet a bit. But it has its moments, and in particular it has a strong sense of London-ness about it that appealed to me. It's in the Travelex £10 season, and you can't really go wrong for a tenner.
From a play that barely moves a hundred yards, to one that goes from Spain to Peru and back: The Royal Hunt of the Sun is about what happens when empires collide, and the mutual incomprehension inherent in a true clash of civilisations. It is, as you might imagine, rather relevant at the moment, although the direction is never so vulgar as to explicitly draw attention to the fact. Alun Armstrong plays Francisco Pizarro as a blunt son of the soil (the Yorkshire accent helps) who heads off to Peru in search of gold. He ends up facing down Atahuallpa, the Sun God's son, who is played superbly by Paterson Joseph. Joseph seems to be cornering the market in slightly loony dictators -- only a few months ago he was the much more worldly but equally bonkers Emperor Jones, at the (tiny) Gate theatre. But it's one thing to exude power and animal magnetism at the Gate, when all the audience are within arm's length, and another to do it at the Olivier when most of the audience see you as a dot in the distance. It was a remarkable performance, and the scenes between him and Armstrong were mesmerising.
The staging was impressive, too. I hadn't realised that the apocryphal stage direction "they cross the Andes" isn't actually apocryphal at all -- this is the play it comes from! And the cast, who almost outnumber Pizarro's original expedition, do indeed cross the Andes, and do it without any Northern-Lights-style trickery (the famous Olivier drum revolve barely moves throughout the whole play).
This play was a pleasure from beginning to end. Which is three and a quarter hours, by the way, so don't make any early dinner reservations. The second act, in particular, takes its own sweet time, and I admit I found myself wishing they'd hurry it up a bit in places. But the play treats the audience like adults, refuses absolutely to beat you over the head with a message, and (especially in the second act) gives you plenty of food for thought -- you find yourself sympathising with the rampaging Christians even as you're repelled by them.
This one's also available for a tenner, if you're quick about it, and I'd recommend it unreservedly.